Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in North East

DENABY MAIN, SOUTH YORKSHIRE – Where the family trees are straight lines.

West of Donn-eh and overt t’watter , that is: the other side of the river Don, from Mexborough (more of here later), Denaby is the Mecca of Chavdom in this area. Once the habitat of Teddy Boys, the ghosts of old Teds bemoan the degeneration of Society in their town. Where once the Ted Societies: The Flickers and the Wipers, (Different hairstyles you see) ruled supreme the Chav is the now the bottom of the food-chain.

Main habitat for the Denaby Chav and Chavette is the Netto and its surroundings, where the torn down shrubs and litter-strewn lawns hint of the efforts of Donn-eh Carnsil to prettify the area. Every morning about 11.30, after rising from the fag-burnt beds, the Denaby Fat Lass Shouting Club (mucky feet branch) meets at the frozzen stuff aisle in Netto, to spend the day smokin’ and shartin’. The traditional cry of: ‘Getyerfuckin’ self back ‘ere Katara and stop pullin’ t’ fuckin’ stuff of t’ shelfs or al kick thi fuckin’ ead in’, Resounds round the cut price shite.

See the chavlings as they whiz round on their plaggies, on the way to get 50p worth of petrol from the P**i at the garage, in order to roar up and down the Pennine Way for 30 seconds till they run out.

See the inbred shitheads head for the Dole to get their beer and fag money. In the Denaby aristocracy, the family tree is a straight line! Mutated and ugly, the flip-flopped mucky feet prowl the area looking for the knock off fag man and the offy. A tenner win on t’ Lottri means a piss-up in t’ Drum or t’Pig.

Holidays are a trip ter Medderall for a bit of nickin’ and a smoke artside prior to gerrinsumknob in the carparks.

Night time brings out the gangs of chavs and slags with their slap on and the slap joolri from Argos a-swing, doll necklaces abound! The Vauxhall Ashtrays (total worth £50) roar round with their blue lights flashing and the sound systems booming, from six till ten. The fun stops then because their 11 year old chavettes have to go home : it’s school tomorrow and they want to get in for lesson 4, because they fancy the teacher and are thinking of making up a spurious claim that he has felt their arse. Anyway, they are up t’stick and f**k knows ootfavveris.
A feight wit mekkies (a fight with the denizens of Mexborough) is always good to brighten up the night and is often preceded by a quick spliff up t’ bakkert’ Kwiksave.

Some of the tattoos are miraculously spelled properly however so come for a fotnit and see for thisen.